Family Portrait
by libbyQuin
Summary: William Reid started a new life when he left his wife and son. Now he wants Spencer to be a part of it. But Spencer isn't so sure. Post-'Memoriam', pre-'To Hell...And Back'.
1. Part One

**A/N: OK. Well, obviously, the first thing to say is that I own nothing. Sadly.  
The second thing I have to say is that this chapter isn't as great as I wanted, but it gets better so stay with me. Promise. Also, I hate the ending of this chapter but I couldn't think of anything else.  
****I'm not sure exactly when Reid's dad left, but from the flashbacks in 'Revelations' he looks about 10, which would fit because in 'Memoriam' he says it's 17 years since he saw his dad, and in an episode close to that ('Masterpiece') he says he's 27. So...yeah. Also, I try to stay as true to what we're shown in the show, but sometimes I forget stuff so I get creative.  
What sort of place does Reid live in? I don't know. Does anyone? I don't think so. So I based his flat on my aunty's flat.****  
This is gonna be a five-part story, and I promise that I will actually finish it. I've got the last two parts left to write.  
Um, I'm still really a novice when it comes to fanfiction, and this is my first Criminal Minds fic, so reviews are seriously appreciated. Good reviews are great. Bad reviews are even better, so long as they contain the miracle that is constructive criticism. Reid's a hard character to pin down, I think, so feedback on characterisation is super-duper good. :D  
All the songs that I'm using at the start of each chapter are NZ songs. They're all really good. You should definately look them up.  
Finally, because I'm a Kiwi, I use British spelling. For me, 'Mom' is not a word. 'Mum' is. Just so you don't think I'm a bad speller or anything.  
Right, I'll shut up now. :D**

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Part One

_If you're the same boy I knew of  
__When those days slipped slowly by  
__We could meet up and see if  
__We could be on alright  
__- 'The Letter', __Midnight__ Youth_

Spencer Reid eased the door of his flat open slowly, taking care not to drop any of the files piled in his arms, or, more importantly, the cup of takeaway coffee in his hand. He nudged the door shut with his foot, then made his way over to the small round table in his kitchen. He dropped the files clumsily down on the table top, took a sip of his coffee and then put the cup down next to the precariously balanced pile of paper. He slung his satchel over the back of a chair, took his jacket off and hung it over the top. He picked his coffee up, grabbed the topmost file from the pile, cringed as the pile messily collapsed, and then made his way over to his couch. He opened the file, but after a long, boring day in the bullpen he had no desire to spend the evening reading more case files. _Because even genius Dr. Reid gets sick of reading case files sometimes, _he thought to himself with a grin as he imagined what Morgan would say if he had seen his colleague throw the file onto his coffee table with a sigh.

Spencer looked around the small lounge, searching for the morning's newspaper. Finding anything in his flat was typically a challenge – it was usually a mess. Everyone at work, especially Prentiss, considered him a neat freak, which he had always considered weird. His desk at work _was_ fastidiously tidy, but that may have been just to keep up appearances. At home, Spencer was a bit of a slob. He did try to keep everything neat, but the amount of books he owned would put a small library to shame, and the fact that he kept most of his old case files added to the mess. He simply didn't have enough shelves, so stuff ended up in messy piles on the floor. It was organised though – he knew exactly where each book or old file was. Besides, as his mother slways said, books should be somewhere where they can be reached easily, not hidden away on shelves.

After skimming the top layer of paper which covered his table and shelves, Spencer realised that the morning's paper was not in his flat. It must currently be waiting in the mailbox, nestled amongst the junk mail which he chose to simply leave in there until the mailbox couldn't hold another catalogue. He didn't feel like going out to get the paper, but the alternative was spending a ridiculous amount of time looking for something to read which he hadn't already read and unwittingly memorised.

Coffee in hand, Spencer sighed as he heaved himself up from the couch, dropping the case file he'd abandoned on the kitchen table with the rest of them, where it would stay until he could be bothered to pile them up neatly – anywhere between a day and a week. He paused on his small porch and examined the pot plant sitting on the low brick wall. It had quite obviously passed onto the Great Greenhouse in the Sky. Garcia had given it to him when she'd seen how empty his porch was compared to those of his green-thumbed neighbours. He knew exactly what he should've done to keep the plant healthy…he'd just completely forgotten to do it. _How could someone with an eidetic memory forget to water a pot plant?_ He asked himself. He quickly realised that he knew the answer to that question in exact scientific terms, but he shook the thought away. _Geez, Spencer, do you ever turn off that huge brain of yours? No wonder people roll their eyes and walk away from you!_

He opened his mailbox and surveyed the mass of flyers lying inside. The junk mail build-up was not yet critical – he could still open the mailbox without an avalanche of advertisements. He fished around, finally extracting the morning's newspaper, a bill from his insurance company, and a letter with an address written in handwriting which he didn't recognise – possibly a thank-you note from one of the families whose daughter they'd saved in their most recent case…but those normally went to Hotch through the Bureau…

Once he was back inside, Spencer threw the newspaper and unknown letter on the table and opened his insurance bill. He couldn't believe it – his life insurance had gone up, _again._ It was getting ridiculous. He knew that with his job, life insurance was going to be pricey, but he was also sure that no-one else on the team paid that much. Maybe the insurance company charged more if your recent past included being kidnapped, tortured, held hostage, drugged, shot at, infected with anthrax, and coming very close to death a couple of times – hell, he'd even actually _died_ once. If it wasn't for the fact that he had to pay for his mother's care, he wouldn't have bothered with life insurance in the first place. _Just be glad you're not a middle-aged, overweight smoker!_

Spencer picked up the paper and was well into page 3 before he remembered the letter. He looked at the envelope, checking to see if there was a return address. There was, but there was no name and he didn't recognise the address. However, it was from someone who lived in Vegas, in a suburb not far from where he'd grown up. And old school friend, maybe? _Not likely, Spencer. You didn't have any school friends, remember?_

He ripped the envelope open. Inside was a long, handwritten letter, He read it in a matter of seconds, but he couldn't believe what was written there. He had to read it again, slowly, to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

_Dear Spencer,_

_I've wanted to write you this letter for a long time now, because there's something that I really have to tell you. In hindsight, I should have told you when you came to see me, but then again, it wasn't really the right time. You were far too preoccupied – and angry – to have the conversation, and I wouldn't have wanted to say it with your mother there anyway._

_Just listen to me. I'm babbling – procrastinating, more like. This is about the eighth letter I've written, you know, but I'm determined to post this one._

_I want you to come and see me – stay with me, if you're willing to. But at least come to __Nevada__ to visit me. Because there's someone – two someones - who I want you to meet._

_I know I've left it a long time to tell you this, Spencer, but it's hard for me. I know when I left you and your mother, I left behind a lot of hard feelings, and I suppose that's why I've been so unwilling to write you this letter. But seeing you again made me realize that I want to know you; I want you to be a part of my life. I thought, after seeing you and talking to you, that maybe the air had been cleared enough for me to write this letter._

_I'm procrastinating again. So here goes – Spencer, after I left, I moved on. It took awhile, but finally I made my mind up to stop living in the past and get on with life. I know that that could sound like an insult to you and your mother, but it isn't meant to be, so I hope that's not how you take it. Anyway, I met a woman named Deborah, who worked as an IT specialist for the company that I work for. After about two years, we got married and a year after that, we had a baby – a daughter named Chrissy. She's eight now, nearly nine, and she's your half-sister._

_Spencer, I know that this will come as a surprise, and probably not a pleasant one. But I think that you deserve to know about my family – because Deborah and Chrissy are your family too. I really want you to come out to __Las Vegas__ and visit, so that you can meet them. I would really like you to stay, but I can understand perfectly if you only want to come out for a day. I can understand if you don't want to come at all. But if you do, please write back to me and let me know. I'll send you a plane ticket. I'll pay. If you want to stay in a hotel, I'll pay for that too. From what I've heard, the government doesn't pay too well, even to its top FBI agents._

_Don't take that the wrong way either._

_I hope that you'll come and see me and meet my family. I really hope that you're not still too angry at me to do so. Even though you have a right to be angry. Either way, please let me know._

_Dad._

Unbelievable. _Unbelievable._ His father had married and had a child without bothering to let him know? He read the letter a third time, although it was now lodged in his brain, a perfect facsimile imprinted on his retinas.

Anger coursed through his veins at every sentence. _'_Left behind a lot of hard feelings'… _You're damn right you did, leaving me to try and look after Mum like that…_ 'Deborah and Chrissy are your family too'… _No, Deborah and Chrissy are two strangers that I've never met – you're hardly even my family, I've seen you once in 17 years…_ 'I can understand if you don't want to come at all'… _Well I'd bloody well hope so; it's your own fault that I don't want anything to do with you!_

Spencer screwed the letter up into a ball and threw it at the bin. His anger was clouding his vision and it prevented him from seeing the letter hit the wall three feet to the left of its target. He grabbed the newspaper violently from the table and sat on the couch, gulping the rest of his coffee down in one go. His anger increased as he realised that it was now stone-cold. He blamed his father for that too. He didn't care that it was childish and irrational – it made him feel slightly better, and it was easy.

***

The next morning, Spencer woke up tired. He'd only managed to get to sleep in the early hours of the morning. He'd spent most of the night trying to distract himself with books. He'd re-read the Lord of the Rings in its entirety – including all the appendixes – plus David Copperfield, _plus _most of Dr. Zhivago. He'd even got so desperate that he turned on the television – although the most interesting thing on had been the Magic Bullet infomercial. Even watching old Star Trek episodes on tape hadn't been able to distract him from thinking about his father's letter.

After he'd showered, dressed, and had breakfast, Spencer found the screwed-up letter, smoothed it out, folded it, and put it in his bag. Mentally, he stored the letter's words under the heading of 'To Be Taken Into Consideration.'

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**A/N: Just wanted to say, that's what my family do with our junk mail. And those three books are three of my favourites, plus they're the longest I could think of off the top of my head. Please review! I'll give you cyber vibes of love. Because that's all I have to offer.**


	2. Part Two

**A/N: Wow. This is being published a lot quicker than I thought it would. The next couple of parts may not be as fast!  
Still don't own anything, sadly. :(  
I love those moments in CM when Reid and Morgan have little talks - my personal favs being the end of 'Somebody's Watching' and the beginning of 'The Popular Kids'...cute. This, er, isn't as cool as those moments, but it'll do, right?  
It was hard to get both Reid and Morgan to sound in character, and I'm still not sure that I succeeded. If you know how I could've improved that, flick me a review and share the secret. Because sharing is caring!  
Reviews are the reason that I published this so fast. They are my motivation, and they are greatly appreciated. So please review! To the people who have reviewed already, you guys are awesomeness personified. You're cooler than axolotls.  
****Waow. That's cool.**

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Part Two

_Take a lesson from this heart  
__As it was broken  
__And I know you're torn apart  
__So from one friend to a friend  
__Hearts break, they blend, they mend  
__-'One Left Standing', Elemeno P_

Spencer made his way over to the coffee machine for his third cup of the day. It was almost lunchtime and he'd gotten hardly any work done. He'd spent most of the morning thinking about his father and what he'd said in his letter. He absolutely could not decide whether to go or not.

"Hey, kid, what's up?"

Spencer just about jumped out of his skin. He hadn't noticed Morgan approaching. He grabbed a cloth, hastily trying to mop up the coffee he'd spilt before Morgan made another crack about his complete and utter lack of co-ordination. But no such joke came.

"What's wrong, Reid?" Morgan said instead.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. You gave me a fright, that's all." Spencer replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the bench top. He could feel Morgan's eyes on him.

"I saw you come in this morning, man. You walked right into Prentiss' desk without even noticing. It doesn't take a profiler to realise something's up with you." Morgan laughed. "I mean, you're clumsy, but you're not that clumsy!"

"I'm just a little tired, okay?" Spencer said testily, ignoring Morgan's friendly dig in an attempt to shorten the conversation.

Morgan wasn't convinced. "Reid, I've been watching you all day. You've spent the morning staring into space. You've done hardly any work."

"You can't have done much work either if you've been sitting there watching me all morning," Spencer snapped, dead serious.

Morgan chuckled. "Yeah, but I hardly do any paperwork anyway. You, on the other hand, normally do like five times what anyone else does. I can tell there's something bothering you, Reid," he said, suddenly becoming serious. "I just thought maybe I could help you out."

Spencer looked at Morgan. He could tell from his face that he was genuinely concerned. He sighed and walked back to his desk, motioning for Morgan to follow. He knew by now that every time he acted odd at work, everyone on the team, with the exception of Rossi, started privately worrying that he may've relapsed onto the Dilaudid. It was nice to know that they cared about him, but it could be annoying. He thought he'd better tell Morgan what was going on, or Hotch could be ordering a random drug test. Besides, maybe Morgan could help him figure out what to do.

He fished his father's letter from his bag. He held it out, but before Morgan could take it, he snatched it back.

"This is between us, okay, Morgan?" he said.

"Reid, you don't have to tell me that, man." Morgan replied. Spencer nodded and held the letter out again and Morgan took it. He read it agonisingly slowly. Finally he looked up and handed the letter back.

"I don't know what to do," Spencer said. "I can't work out what I want. I can't even work out how I feel."

"I can understand that you're unsure. You're still angry at him for leaving you and your mum, huh?" Morgan asked.

Spencer nodded. "I keep thinking, am I just being stubborn? Should I just let it go, you know, just move on?"

"Reid, you've got a right to be angry, man. You were only a kid and he left you to take care of your sick mum. But that was nearly twenty years ago."

Spencer shifted uncomfortably. Morgan was watching him intently. He didn't say anything.

"The situation between you got better when you met him, didn't it?" Morgan asked, breaking the silence.

"It was the first time I'd seen him in seventeen years, and we only met because I accused him of being a paedophile and murderer," Spencer said. "I don't think that that created good feelings, funnily enough."

"Well, yeah, okay, but after it all got sorted out. When you found out what really happened, and you talked – the three of you, him, you, and your mum. Didn't you sort it all out?" Morgan asked.

"I can sort of understand why he did what he did," Spencer replied, "but that certainly doesn't mean that I think he was right, or that I forgive him."

"Okay, so you're still angry at him for leaving. But what about what he's done since? Are you mad at him for moving on, for starting another family?" Morgan said.

Spencer sighed. "I know I can't blame him for that. It's irrational to get upset at him for starting over… I just wish he'd told me."

"Reid, he hadn't spoken to you since you were a kid," said Morgan. "And like he said in the letter, he couldn't really tell you when you met, could he?"

Spencer shook his head. "I know that. I just… I don't know whether I want to get involved with his life. He seems to be doing fine without me."

Morgan could detect the bitterness in Spencer's voice. He was silent for a moment, then he spoke.

"He does want to know you, Reid. He wrote you this letter. He wants you to meet his wife and kid." Spencer didn't reply, so Morgan continued. "Look, man, all I can say is this. He's your father. He messed up pretty badly and you ain't never gonna be real close. But he wants you in his life; he wants you to be a part of his family, even if it's not on a real deep level. There are times in life when you should let go of the past and start over, and there are times when you just gotta walk away from something that's dead. I can't make your mind up for you, Reid."

Spencer nodded and smiled weakly at Morgan. "Yeah, I know. Thanks though."

Morgan turned to leave, but then he stopped and looked back at Spencer.

"Family's important, kid," he said. "Remember that." Then he walked back to his desk.

Spencer stood there for a while, turning the envelope over and over in his hands. Finally he sat back down, putting the letter back in his bag. He pulled a file towards him, intending to finally do some work, but something caught his eye.

The small framed photo was the only personal item he had on his desk. It showed him and his mother, taken when he was about thirteen. Long after his father had left. He and Diana both had wide smiles on their faces. He stared at the photo for a while, looking into his mother's shining eyes. The photo had been taken on a good day. His father should have been in the frame. Was he dating Deborah when this photo was taken? Was he missing seeing the smiling face of his son every day? Spencer knew that it was pointless to try and speculate the answers to all the questions he still had about his father.

Spencer shook his head and opened the file, determined to get some work done.

***

The next morning, he woke up with his mind made up.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: It's nearly Christmas!!! Sorry, I'm kinda excited.  
Finally! I'm sorry this took longer than it should have. I got distracted by my other story, 'Holidays', which you should totally check out. It's nifty, if I do say so myself.  
See my shameless plug??  
Rightio. So, er, yeah, I'm not American. I'm not British though, I'm New Zealander. But anyway, because I'm not American, the US culture remains an impregnable mystery to me. Everything I know about it, I learnt from the Simpsons. Not very well schooled. So there probably are little things in here that make you Americans go, 'Wait. What?'. Because I really have no idea what it's like in the US of A. The closest I've ever been is Syndey, Oz. So, anyway, the point of this ramble was to say thank you to the person (I'm sorry, I forgot your name :P) who gave me some tips. Very much appreciated. I have no idea what a condo is (puts me in mind of swamps and alligators) but consider everything else duly noted. Except, neither my spell-checker nor my grammar Nazism upbringing (xD) will let me spell 'mum' with an 'o'. Sorry. .  
So yeah, I should shut up now, huh? One last thing though - please review! I'll love you forever. In a completely non-creepy, not-at-all stalkerish kind of way. :D**

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Part Three

_Monday morning: hesitate; I can't get out of bed  
__I'd rather go back to the dreams I'm living in my head  
__Tuesday evening: pack my bags; I'm heading out the door  
__I left a box of memories lying on the floor  
__-'It's Too Late', Evermore_

Spencer placed his overnight bag next to his satchel on the passenger seat of his ancient turquoise Volvo and looked at it doubtfully. A hotel room had been booked and his return flight wasn't for a few days after his arrival, but he still had a feeling that he may not be staying in Vegas. If it went badly with his dad – and it was pretty likely that it would – he'd want to leave as soon as he could. _No,_ he told himself. _If it goes wrong with Dad, stay in Vegas and go spend some time with Mum – on Dad's money. Meet his family, have dinner with them if necessary, then have nothing more to do with them._

Spencer locked the door to his flat after one last check that everything was unplugged then got in his car. He put the key in the ignition but he didn't turn it.

_As soon as I start this car there's no going back. Start the car and I meet him and his family. No exceptions. If I'm going to chicken out, now's the time._

He turned the key.

***

Spencer looked out of the small plane window without seeing the clouds. He was trying hard not to think bitter or angry thoughts towards his father. He'd promised himself when he boarded the plane that he'd leave the past behind him so he could meet his father and his family – Deborah and Chrissy, who had never done anything to him – on a clean slate. However, it was proving easier said than done. The bitter thoughts kept racing through his mind. Trying to banish them was made all the more difficult by the small boy and his father occupying the seats in front of him. When Spencer tried to ward of the vindictive thoughts by remembering the good times with his father, the fact that he had almost no memories of William, good or bad, was made worse by the father and son happily chatting in front of him. Why had his father never wanted to just sit and talk with him like that? _Probably had something to do with the fact that I had a higher vocabulary level than him when I was seven,_ Spencer thought.

"How does the plane stay in the air, Dad?" the small boy asked. The father was silent for a moment, then mumbled something about air resistance. Spencer didn't have to be an FBI profiler to see that the man obviously had no idea. Spencer, who had investigated the answer to that question before he had started school, had to bite his lip to stop himself from leaning forward and answering the boy. As Hotch had once pointed out, you weren't supposed to jump in and answer questions not directed at you, especially when you weren't even part of the conversation. Besides, due to his PhD in engineering, his explanation would no doubt be far too long and complicated for both the boy and his father to comprehend.

Spencer returned his gaze to the window and his thoughts to his father. He had told Morgan the truth – he _could_ understand why his father had left. His mum could be a nightmare, even when she was on medication. Paranoia, delusions, depression – not the recipe for a typical family life. Spencer himself had hardly been a father's dream son. Most fathers wanted a son who they can play catch with, talk about football with, not one who prefers to spend his time immersed in books. Spencer remembered his father's words – _'I didn't know how to handle you any more.' _He supposed that that could be applied to both him and his mother. William Reid had wanted a normal, white-picket-fence sort of family, and he certainly hadn't found it with Diana and Spencer.

_That's no excuse. That's no reason to just up and leave. There is _no_ excuse for what he did,_ Spencer thought. Maybe he and his mother were a bit more than William had bargained for, but that didn't justify that fact that he had left them to cope on their own – a ten year old and a paranoid schizophrenic. William hadn't been able to cope with Diana, yet he left Spencer, his kid son, to look after her single-handedly? What the hell was wrong with him?

_Shut up. No bitter thoughts. Clean slate._

Spencer sighed and shifted in his uncomfortable airline seat. He was used to the luxury of the BAU jet, and the unfamiliarly hard seat wasn't helping his mood. But he could hardly have expected his father to shell out for a business class seat.

His father. Obviously he had found the conventional family unit he'd been looking for with Deborah and Chrissy. A mentally-stable wife and a child who wasn't freakishly intelligent. Perfect. Obviously he was much happier with them than he'd ever been with Diana and Spencer. A nasty thought suddenly crossed Spencer's mind. Had his father ever been happy with him and his mum? Or had he always been unsatisfied, had he always thought that somewhere out there was something better? Spencer didn't want to believe that the latter was true. Surely he had been content at one stage. He must have loved Diana once, must have been a fulfilled father at some stage.

Spencer ran a hand wearily through his hair. He'd drive himself mad if he kept entertaining these trains of thought. He had to let go of the past and focus on the future – the imminent future, specifically the looming meeting with his father and his new family. He had to meet with Deborah and Chrissy, at least, on good terms. It wasn't fair to punish them for his father's bad decisions. _Focus on that. Focus on what you have some influence on, not long-ago events that can't be changed._

Spencer spent the rest of the flight wondering whether Chrissy would bear any resemblance to him.

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A/N: That didn't turn out as I had planned. It sounded better in my head. :P Oh well. Hopefully it doesn't suck too badly. Review and tell me what went wrong!!  
In 'The Tribe', when Reid starts answering a question, and Hotch says 'Is your name Samuel?', yeah that was what I was referring to. That made me laugh, because that's exactly what happens to me all the time, and those are the exact words that my mum uses. Hehe.  
I'm pretty sure we saw Reid's car in season three when he goes to Gideons' cabin...I dunno. I'm just babbling cuz I don't wanna post this. .


	4. Part Four

**A/N: Jeez, I'm sorry this took so long!! I've had it written for ageeees, but I just never seemed to be able to type it up. I've been away camping in Mangaweka (not that any of you will know where that is; suffice it to say that it's small and without modern commodities) so I'm using that as my excuse. Plus, I got re-obsessed (yes, it is a word to me, so there) with Harry Potter, which resulted in me writing a Marauders fic rather than working on this (it's called 'Well-Adjusted', and I'm shamelessly plugging it). Plus I finished 'Holidays'. So yeah...in short, I actually don't have a very good excuse for keeping you waiting for so long.  
This is a pretty short chapter, and I'm not all that pleased with it. Better than nothing, though, right? I kinda changed the tone; a lot of you were saying that I'm being too lenient on William so I kinda changed Reid's attitude. I dunno whether it's worked...reviews would really help guys! Plus, my motivation's at an all-time low - I haven't even written part five - so reviews might light a much-needed fire under my bum.  
Also, I have no idea how in-character William - or for that matter, Spencer - is, so yeah, once again, I plead for reviews! **

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Part Four

_Remember me  
__Honestly I don't  
__Remember who you are  
__Honestly I don't  
__Remember you at all  
__These demons won't leave you alone.  
__You want a second chance?  
__-'Second Chance', Liam Finn_

Spencer looked around the terminal, searching for the face that was too unfamiliar. His father had said that he'd pick him up from the airport. If he didn't, that would be it. Spencer had decided that his father had one chance, and if he screwed up, Spencer would have nothing more to do with him, ever. To have blown his first chance was one thing. If he blew his second, that was the end.

Spencer was about to give up when he heard his name being called.

"Spencer! Hey! Over here." His father was waving to him, beckoning him over.

When Spencer reached his father, they both stood there awkwardly, neither of them knowing what to say or do. Spencer wondered if his father was remembering the last time they met. He knew he was. Finally, William extended his hand and Spencer shook it tentatively.

"I, uh… I'm glad you came," William said. Spencer just nodded noncommittally. He wasn't yet sure whether he could say the same thing.

"Deb and Chrissy wanted to come with me to the airport, but uh, Chrissy's still at school and Deb couldn't get any time off work, so…so she's still at work..." William continued. "They're both looking forward to, um, y'know, meeting you." Spencer noted how nervous his father sounded, but before he started analysing William's body language and facial expression, as he was trained to do, he gave himself a mental kick. _You can't start profiling him. That's unfair._

William seemed wrong-footed by Spencer's lack of response, but he was obviously determined to make the most of his chance. He ploughed on.

"Chrissy's really looking forward to seeing you. She's in the Junior Scientist group at school, and I told her that you were a scientist, you know, what you do involves a lot of science, but I didn't tell her exactly what you do because it might scare her a bit, but I did say you're a doctor of chemistry, she was very impressed…" William faltered to a halt, realising that he was babbling. "So, yeah, she's, er, very excited." He finished weakly. Spencer realised that his father babbled when nervous – just like he did. He wondered how many other traits he had inherited.

"Well, er, there's not really any further reason to stand around, is there?" William said. "Let's go."

Spencer nodded again, then followed his father out to the car park.

***

The ringing of Spencer's phone broke the awkward silence. It felt like they'd been in William's car forever, but the conversation hadn't moved past short questions and monosyllabic answers. Spencer had promised himself that he was going to try and make a clean start, but actually seeing his father again had rocked all his resolutions. He couldn't stop himself from feeling bitter now that he was face to face with his dad. Spencer was thankful for the reprieve presented by his phone.

"Reid," he said as he answered.

"Hey, Pretty Boy." It was Morgan. "How's it going?"

"Alright," Spencer said. He wanted to say 'pretty badly', but he also wanted to keep his end of the conversation as brief and vague as possible. He didn't want his father to have any idea what he was talking about, especially if he was talking about him. It was almost as if Spencer wanted to make his father feel some of the confusion and exclusion that he himself had felt after William left.

"Are you at your dad's place?" Morgan asked.

"No. Nearly."

"You're driving?"

"Not me personally."

"You're in a taxi?" Morgan tried to clarify.

"No." Spencer wondered why he was being so silly.

"Your dad's driving?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, so that's why you're not giving anything away. You wanna keep him in the dark."

Spencer cursed Morgan's profiling ability.

"I guess you could say that," Spencer said. _Well, that's what he did to me all these years._

"Okay. Have you met his family yet?" Morgan asked.

"No, not yet."

"Have you and your dad had a real proper chat? Y'know, sat down and hammered everything out?"

"No," Spencer replied tetchily.

"You know you really should. I thought that was the point of your visit. But okay, man, whatever, you do this your way. I don't wanna butt in."

"I know."

"So you've just been sitting there awkwardly?"

"Yup."

"Okay. Well, when you get to his place, you should try and have a real man-to-man. I mean, I know he's been a real jerk, but you're there now, so you might as well make the effort, yeah?" said Morgan.

"I guess so."

"Good man. Okay, I'd better go. Give me a call later; tell me how it went with his wife and kid, okay?"

"Yeah, I will. See you."

"Bye kid."

Spencer put his phone back in his pocket. William glanced over at him.

"Who was that?" he asked.

_None of your business!_ thought Spencer at first. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be making an effort.

"Oh, just a guy I work with," he said. "He wanted to know about a report I was writing. Nothing important."

"Oh. Right." William nodded, keeping his eyes on the road.

They drove on for a few minutes in silence, then William spoke.

"We're nearly there," he said. Spencer nodded. He recognised the area. "I live not far from where you grew up." William continued.

"So distance was never an excuse," said Spencer before he could stop himself. William opened his mouth to reply, but he didn't speak. Spencer looked out the window, biting his lip.

Soon William was pulling into the drive way of a small, neat house, with an immaculate lawn and a number of well-cared-for rose bushes. As Spencer walked up the little path leading to the green front door he looked around at the neatly-kept flowerbeds. William obviously noticed him looking, as he spoke up.

"Deb's a real green-thumb. She's always out in the garden. Chrissy likes to help, but I think she's more of a hindrance." He laughed nervously.

As William unlocked the door, Spencer looked around. The house, the garden – it was all pure white-picket-fence, stereotypical happy families-looking. When he entered the house, his impression didn't change at all. Nice furniture (but not _too_ nice), spotlessly clean (but still bearing evidence of the presence of a child), photos lining the walls (all smiling faces) – all very conventional and normal. The complete opposite of the book-strewn, messy house that he had grown up in.

William led him into the lounge. There were three dark blue couches and a large fireplace set into the far wall. William glanced at the clock hanging above the mantelpiece that was covered framed photos.

"Deb will be back with Chrissy in about half an hour," he said. "Before they arrive, I er – I think we need to talk."

Spencer nodded, glad that his father had saved him from trying to initiate a heart-to-heart.

"Why don't you, er…why don't you sit down, and I'll um, I'll go make some coffee. Or tea. Or whatever you want." William offered.

"Just – just coffee. With milk. And sugar. Um, two sugars will be okay." Spencer replied.

William nodded and hastily exited for the kitchen. Spencer sat down on a couch and looked around the room.

_Here we go,_ he though. _Maybe now I'll get some answers._

He waited nervously for his father to return.


	5. Part Five

**A/N: Wow! Has it been forever, or what? I am so sorry - I don't have any sort of excuse for taking two months - more - to update. To make it up to you guys, I wrote an epilogue! That shouldn't take too long to publish as I've already written it. Also, can I just say in my defence that this is a pretty long chapter? xD  
I think I buggered up the characterisation, but I'd already spent so long NOT writing that I didn't want to take any longer. So, if you see any glaring errors in the personas, just drop a review and I shall do my best to remedy them.  
This ended up not quite going the way I'd planned. I sort of don't like it, I'm kinda unsure about it, so any reviews would be greatly appreciated. If you like it - great! Please reassure me! If you don't - not quite as great, but I'll gladly accept any constrictive critiscism.  
Another reminder of my use of English spelling - i.e. 'Mum', not 'Mom'. I'm sorry if it bugs you, I just can't help it.  
Of course, I don't own Criminal Minds, or any of the recognisable characters - but if someone wants to give me Reid, I'll gladly take him off your hands. ;D**

* * *

**Part Five**

_You're laced in a candy shame  
Do you have a handle on your pain?  
__I am here to celebrate your life now  
__I am here to be your friend now  
__Yeah… I am your friend  
__-'Weapons of War', The Feelers_

When William re-entered the kitchen with a coffee mug in each hand, Spencer had worked himself up into a nervous state. There were so many questions he had, and yet he wasn't really sure whether or not he wanted the answers.

He muttered his thanks as his father handed him his coffee, and waited as William seated himself on the opposite couch. He didn't know how to start the conversation, so he waited for his father to speak. Unfortunately, William seemed to have the same idea. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, William spoke.

"You're angry at me because of what I did to you and your mother," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

Spencer nodded. "Do you think I shouldn't be? I suppose you do. You probably think I'm being stubborn."

"It was a long time ago," William said.

"For you maybe," said Spencer coldly. Seventeen years of pent-up anger was about to come out, and Spencer made no effort to stop it. His father seemed completely unapologetic. Spencer felt now that he had a right to be mad. Only by letting out all of this bottled-up anger could he ever hope to have any sort of relationship with his father.

"I don't understand what that's supposed to mean, Spencer," William said. He was avoiding his son's eyes.

"It's like you've erased me and Mum from your mind!" Spencer replied fiercely. "Like me and Mum are part of some past life that doesn't matter anymore!"

William shook his head. "I still care about you," he said softly.

"Seventeen years without a word," Spencer said. "It took you seventeen years to care enough to want to see me. You don't have some incurable disease, do you? I wouldn't be surprised if I was just an entry on your list of things to do before you die."

"How could you say that?" William said, shocked. "This isn't like you."

Spencer shook his head in disbelief. "How would you know? You walked out when I was ten! You haven't got a clue what's happened to me to make me who I am!"

"You're the largest file on my computer," William said quietly, still staring at the carpet. "I've got newspaper articles, interviews, all the pieces you've written –"

"You Googled me. I know. You say that like it means something! Good effort, _Dad_," laughed Spencer sarcastically. "So you know that I've solved a few cases, maybe saved a few lives. But did you know that I almost died of anthrax?"

William's head shot up.

"No?" Spencer continued. "What about how I was kidnapped and tied up in a shed in rural Georgia? You wouldn't have read about how I was forced in to drug addiction by a religious psychopath, am I right?" Spencer stood up. He could see how stunned his father was looking. There was a savage pleasure in making him feel so bad. "Here's something you might recognise. When I was only ten years old, I was abandoned to look after my crazy mother all on my own because my father was weak. Does that ring a bell?"

William looked back down at the floor. "I never meant to hurt you."

Spencer stared at his father in disbelief. "You never meant to hurt me? How the hell did you think I was going to feel?"

"I knew you could handle it."

"Are you serious?" Spencer practically shouted. "I was _ten_!"

"You were so smart," William mumbled.

"What, you think I wanted to be the adult? You think you were doing me a favour?"

William stood up suddenly. "I'm going to make another coffee," he said. "Do you want one?"

Spencer just looked at his father in disgust. William turned and entered the kitchen.

"That's right. Run away, again," Spencer said quietly. William either didn't hear or chose to ignore him.

Spencer watched his father leave the room with a look of contempt on his face. William seemed to have forgiven himself for walking out as soon as he had done it. Now he was expecting Spencer to erase seventeen years of anger and disappointment just as easily.

Spencer walked over to the fireplace and examined the myriad of framed photos sitting proudly on the mantelpiece. All of the pictures were of the same three people. There was William, and a woman with short blonde hair and a wide smile. And there was a little girl with wide brown eyes. She was in almost all of the pictures – as a baby in a crib, as a toddler on a seesaw, as a princess with flowers painted on her cheeks. The most recent-looking photo showed an eight-year-old with curly sandy-brown hair and an enormous smile.

Another photo caught Spencer's attention. It was a large one, with a dark wooden frame, placed right at the front. William, Deborah and Chrissy all smiled out from behind the glass, dressed in their nicest clothes for their family portrait. Tucked into the edge of the frame was another photo. It was small – only a wallet print – and the way it was faded made it look much older than any of the other photos that surrounded it. It was of a boy, no older than six or seven, dressed in a red Little League uniform and smiling broadly, with chocolate brown eyes shining from behind thick glasses. He bore a striking resemblance to the small girl in the main portrait.

Spencer plucked it out from the corner of the frame and stared at the picture of himself.

"I keep you right at the front, with the rest of my family."

Spencer spun around in shock. He hadn't heard his father re-enter the room. William wasn't holding a fresh cup of coffee. Spencer turned and placed the photo back where it had come from, then surveyed the frame-covered mantelpiece.

"My presence isn't very strong though," he said, still with his back to his father.

"I know. One picture. Not even a big one. Twenty years old. But it was all I had," William replied. Spencer slowly turned to look at him. "I know what I did to you, and to your mother, was cruel. I felt guilty the moment I closed the front door. But I couldn't turn around. I still feel guilty for not walking right back into the living room. But I just couldn't. I _couldn't_, Spencer. I'm not strong. Not like you."

"You don't know me," Spencer said. He wasn't angry anymore, he realised. He just wanted peace.

"I know. I was…afraid," said William. "But I always regretted my actions. I always wanted to have you as a son. I'm so proud of you, Spencer…" He sighed. "I can understand your hatred. I just want you to understand."

Spencer paused for a moment before answering.

"I do. I do understand," he said at length. "I don't forgive you. I don't know whether I'll ever forgive you. But I understand you."

William opened his mouth to speak but Spencer cut him off.

"I can never really be your son," he said. "Some wounds are too old and too deep to heal. But I don't want to be your enemy."

He held out his hand. After a pause, his father took it and they shook. A gesture of good will and mutual respect.

After returning their arms stiffly to their sides, Spencer and his father stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say now that they were on even ground. The sound of the front door opening broke the silence.

"…Chrissy, wipe your feet dear, I don't know what you've been doing at school but your shoes are filthy. No, on second thought, just take them off – oh, Chrissy, now look, you've trampled mud into the carpet –"

William had left the lounge, walking towards the sound of his wife's voice. Spencer went to follow him but was halted by nerves and uncertainty. He didn't know whether or not he should stay in the lounge and wait to be introduced, and he was apprehensive about meeting these two strangers who were his family.

Before he could make up his mind, William re-entered the room, accompanied by the blonde woman and the wide-eyed girl from the photographs.

"Spencer, I'd like you to meet my wife Deborah, and my daughter Chrissy. And this is Spencer. My son," he said, gesturing to Spencer. Spencer waved awkwardly, feeling even more gauche than he usually did when being introduced. Deborah strode forward, clasped Spencer's hand and shook it firmly.

"I'm so glad to finally meet you! William talks about you so much, me and Chrissy have heard so much about you – by the sounds of it you've got a fascinating life, you'll have to tell me all about it over dinner. Speaking of which, I'd better go prepare the chicken – I assume you like chicken? And potatoes, and pumpkin, and sweet potato and parsnip?"

"Um, yes, that – that sounds good," Spencer said, feeling overwhelmed by Deborah's whirlwind manner. She nodded, patted him on the cheek and left the room.

Chrissy stepped forward and made a nervous little noise, grabbing Spencer's attention. She timidly held out a folded-up piece of paper to him. He took it and unfolded it, revealing a crayon picture of several smiling green blobs.

"They're amoebas," Chrissy said quietly. "A family of happy amoebas. We're learning about them in Junior Science Club. They're very small, and blobby."

"Oh? Really? Wow, they're very…smiley," Spencer said. He was doubtful that amoeba had the ability to smile or form family units, but he was touched that this girl – _his half-sister_ – went to the trouble of drawing them doing so for him. He looked at her, smiling up at him shyly. She'd obviously inherited her appearance from her father – she reminded Spencer strongly of a female version of himself as a child.

When Chrissy had gone to her room to sort out her schoolbag, William looked over at Spencer.

"Deborah's got a very…strong personality," he said with a feeble grin. "I told her to take it easy… I know she can be a little overbearing when you first meet her."

"Oh, no, that's okay," Spencer replied. "She seems nice. So does Chrissy. You're very lucky."

"Yes. I am." William paused for a moment before continuing. "I want you to be a part of this, Spencer. Even if it's just coming out for Christmas."

"I – I normally go to see Mum over Christmas," Spencer said.

"Well, you're still coming to Vegas, and Bennington's not that far…"

"Yeah, that's true," Spencer nodded. He still wasn't sure about how involved he wanted to be in his father's new life. It was a long way to jump from nothing at all to frequent visits.

Deborah bustled back into the lounge, starting to talk before she entered the room.

"Sit down, Spencer, make yourself comfortable," she instructed. She came and sat next to him on the largest couch. "Now, I want you to tell us all about yourself. A certified genius working with the FBI, you must have a fascinating life."

"Oh, well, it's not actually all that interesting…" Spencer said modestly. But Deborah pressed him, inquiring about his job, his friends, his hobbies. She extracted stories from him, ordering him to talk loudly to continue when she went into the kitchen to work on dinner.

Deborah kept Spencer talking until the roast was ready. She ensured that he was the main part of the conversation during the meal, resulting in him finishing his food considerably after everyone else. She had an abundance of questions, and occasionally Chrissy quietly inquired about something, but William stayed almost silent. Spencer didn't mind – it was easier to talk to Deborah and Chrissy than his father.

After the meal, Deborah scolded Spencer for trying to help with the washing-up, telling him to go and sit in the lounge. She recruited Chrissy to dry the dishes and sent her husband into the lounge with coffee.

Spencer accepted him mug with thanks and took a sip before speaking.

"I – I would like to come for Christmas. If you want me," he said, looking into his mug.

"Yes. Yes, absolutely. That would be good. Great," William replied. "Deborah always cooks too much anyway." He laughed nervously.

The conversation slowly improved as Spencer and his father gradually became more comfortable with each other. When Deborah and Chrissy returned, the discussion resumed as before, but this time William was more involved.

The talk slowly moved away from Spencer's life, and he learnt more about William's life with Chrissy and Deborah. It wasn't until Deborah announced that Chrissy should have been in bed an hour ago that Spencer realised how late it had gotten.

Spencer said goodbye to Deborah and Chrissy, promising that he'd be back at Christmas ('if not before', Deborah had prompted) then Deborah took Chrissy to bed and Spencer was left alone with his father.

"So…where are you staying?" William inquired.

"Oh, I found a hotel that's not far," Spencer said. "About halfway between here and Bennington."

"Are you going to go and see you mother?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow. I wrote and told her I was coming out here."

"She doesn't like surprises," William nodded. He was silent for a moment before he asked, "Did you tell her you were coming to see me?"

"No," Spencer admitted.

"Will you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess so."

"Tell her – tell her I'm sorry," William said suddenly.

"I will," replied Spencer. He wanted to press his father, get him to explain himself, but he felt that he shouldn't risk it.

"Are you staying in Vegas for a few days?" William asked tentatively.

"Um, yes, but…I've got some, er, files to go over, and I haven't visited Mum in awhile…" Spencer wasn't entirely sure why, but he didn't want to spend more time with his father and his family. _I don't want to ruin it by rushing_, he thought.

"That's okay, Spencer," William said. "One evening is enough for now. It's more than I'd hoped for, to be honest."

Spencer nodded, relieved that his father seemed to feel the same way as he did.

"Well. Goodbye then," said William.

"Bye. Have a nice – er…"

"Couple of months," William supplied.

"Yeah. I'll see you at Christmas."

The two men shook hands and then Spencer left.

As the taxi Deborah had called for pulled away from the curb, he saw two wide brown eyes peeping out from behind the curtains of a front window. He waved to his half-sister and she waved back.


	6. Epilogue

**A/N: Well, that took a little longer than it should have! But it's here know - THE END! That's right, the final part of this loooong story. Well, it's not that long, but it's been a long time coming! So yeah, here ya go, the epilogue. I was gonna write about Reid seeing his mum and some other stuff...but I already had this written and so I decided that this was a good enough ending. Hopefully you'll like it. Reviews are greatly appreciated (hint hint)!  
So that's me, over and out! :)**

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Met up with a ghost from the past  
__I can't slow down, my mind's moving too fast  
I like the things I'm thinking  
Brother, try to relax  
I said fine  
__-'Ghost From the Past', Shihad_

When Spencer arrived at the hotel, he dumped his bags on the bed and pulled out his phone. He hit the first number on speed dial before thinking of how late it would be in DC. He considered leaving it until tomorrow, but before he could hang up the phone was answered.

"Hello?" a groggy voice said.

"Morgan. It's me. Reid."

"Oh. Yeah. Hey, kid." Spencer winced, realising that he had obviously woken Morgan up.

"I'm sorry I woke you up, I didn't think – what time is it there?"

"You know what time it is. You know what time it is everywhere, Reid."

"Yeah. I'm just…" Spencer trailed off, unsure of exactly how he felt.

"Not thinking straight?" Morgan offered.

"Yeah. It's been…well, it's been a long day."

"I don't care that you woke me. I wanna know what went down, man. Did it all go okay?"

"Yeah, it went…pretty well," Spencer said. "It was…weird. But they're nice. Deborah and Chrissy, I mean. They're nice."

"That's good," Morgan said. He sounded wide awake now. "What about your dad? Did you and him sit down together, y'know, to work through everything?"

"Yeah, we did. We…cleared the air. I understand him now. I mean, I don't, y'know, forgive him, I'm never going to forget what he did…but I understand him better now."

"I'm really happy for you, man," Morgan said. "I could see that all that stuff was affecting you pretty badly. You must feel a heap better now."

"I do, actually. Yeah. It feels good not to be…angry anymore." Spencer only realised this as he said it. He'd never imagined how much better he'd feel once he got everything sorted out with his father. He hadn't even realised how much of an affect his fractured relationship with his father had been having on him.

"So, are you gonna spend the rest of your stay with him and his family?" asked Morgan.

"Uh…no, I'm not. I have been invited for Christmas, though. But I just don't think that… I mean, I think that would be…" Spencer didn't know how to phrase his feelings.

"Too much, too fast?" put in Morgan.

"Yes. Exactly. Too much, too fast."

"That's understandable, man. You gonna spend the time with your mum instead?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen her in awhile," Spencer replied.

"Well, make the most of the rest of your stay. When are you back?"

"Tuesday."

"Okay. Well, have a good time," Morgan said. "Be good to your mama."

Spencer smiled. "I'll do my best."

"Bye kid. See ya when you get back."

"See ya."

Spencer dropped the phone on the bed with the rest of his stuff and walked over to the window. The hazy lights of Las Vegas could be seen, making the night sky glow. Spencer stared at the neon miasma, comforted by the familiar sight.

Thoughts raced through his mind, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, even though it had been a long, hard day, and he felt exhausted. He'd run the whole gamut of emotions – anxiety, doubt, confusion, frustration, anger – and now? _Relief_, he told himself. _I'm glad that I don't have to carry that burden around anymore._His mind continued to race in all directions, yet none of his thoughts were vindictive or angry or hurt. He finally felt okay about his dad.

Eventually, his mind moved to trying to figure out what he could get Chrissy for Christmas. He came to the conclusion that he didn't know her well enough to know, and he resolved to change that. _Maybe not this week_, he thought. _But before Christmas. I'll have to before Christmas._Spencer stood at the window until the neon lights faded against the pale yellow dawn.

_I'm here, you're there, don't mean I don't care  
I'm so sorry, I was miles away  
It's been a day of tiny triumphs  
It's been a week spent in despair  
You can't send it down a phone line  
I do my best, but I'm not there  
So sleep, and wake, and dream up your fate  
And rise and fall, watch you grow tall  
- 'Home Again', Shihad_

**FIN**


End file.
